


anatomy of string

by Dribbles



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: 1990s, Infidelity, Language Barrier, M/M, Metaphors, Sex, class disparity, descrimination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:10:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16887966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dribbles/pseuds/Dribbles
Summary: Imagine delicate fibres wound together, growing stronger, building structures towering in their magnitude spiralling outwards like branches.





	1. Chapter 1

   
  
Imagine a piece of string pulled so tight that even the bluntness of a fingernail would snap it in half.  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
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Baekhyun felt his jaw clench as that hand perched itself atop his shoulder. He felt the squeeze steering him through the grand foyer, all marble and granite. The voice of the almighty Bae Dongho echoing along the corridor leading to his office, humbly located back of house on ground level. He was like that, Baekhyun thought. Firm but fair with a towering presence but the warmth of a smile behind his eyes.  
  
Baekhyun let himself be led, trying to catch his breath at the magnitude of his situation. Seated in a leather chair,  his hands almost shook as he held a silver pen and filled out his signature on his brand new contract. He would be the general manager of The Evergreen. Dongho had promised him ever since he took him aside at the wedding reception and whispered it, telling Baekhyun that this was to be his wedding gift. It was Dongho’s legacy to pass on to his only son-in-law. Baekhyun overwhelmed with such a gesture as to impart one of the most prestigious hotels in South Korea to him.  
  
Baekhyun smiled with all the anticipation in the world, waiting for Dongho to finish a call in another room. At that moment, when the ink was still wet, his eyes wandered about the office, thinking to himself that maybe one day he could even own all 32 monumental storeys.  
  
“My son”, Dongho said from back in his chair, the old wood creaking as he lent forward. “A deal has been struck and an honourable man of business always shakes hands”, Baekhyun captures his grip shaking it with excitement and a lingering fear.  
  
“Congratulations Baekhyun. You’ll make me proud”.  
  
“Thank you. I will do my best father-in-law. Please look after me” Baekhyun bows in his chair as Dongho huffs at the pleasantries.  
  
“This is what families do. You shall start in a few weeks. I’ll be here with the rest of the team to brief you. Then it’s all down to you. I shall be here occasionally...” His eyes wander as he speaks, to his landline, the red light blinking like a constant reminder, “excuse me I need to take this”.  
  
Baekhyun breathes deep the fresh air, trying to control his smile. The sun seems so much more golden and the glare doesn’t seem to hurt the backs of his eyes. His wife calls him as he drives his way back home.  
  
“Doona?” He says.  
  
“How did it go?” Her voice just as jovial as her father’s.  
  
“It’s official. Everything happened like a dream”.  
  
“I’m so glad. Don’t be scared now” she says.  
  
“I never am”, her laugh distorts and his hands grip hard at the steering wheel. With his foot on the accelerator, it feels like life is moving in the right direction.  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
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The ring around his finger is rather plain. A dull gold. Unremarkable. He tries to pull it from his finger to see the deep impression left behind in his skin. He keeps pulling until it passes his knuckle, barely touching his nail. For such a small object it feels so heavy in his hand. A memory surfaces of his wedding day. Remembers their vows, the look in Doona’s eyes and how they searched for the pride in her father as he gave her hand away. Her hand felt just as heavy, the weight of that moment pulling him down with the hand of his father-in-law resting on his shoulder in congratulations.  
  
Maybe it was just the liquor that made his whole body feel that intense gravity. But everyone was so happy, and each smile that turned itself towards him praised him, held him in the highest regard made it all seems like it was all just pre-wedding jitters. Cold feet. Everyone says that’s normal and Baekhyun has always thought himself normal.  
  
Their wedding photo hangs on the wall lit by the setting sun, monochromatic as if it were taken decades ago. He always walks past it on the way to the bathroom, sees his face contorted into a soft smile. He can’t really remember why though.  
  
He places the ring by the organic soap and soy, scented candles, his reflection, weathered from worry. He pulls his face into something like an expression of kindness, running a scenario in which a Duchess from England complains about room service taking a few minutes longer than expected even when they’re occupying the highest floor. In the right light, his smile almost looks genuine and the Duchess seems to agree. A performance fit for the award season.  
  
Maybe he does know what that smile was, or is. Just empty motivation pulling his muscles in the way that, makes everything seem okay. Seem normal. He always thought himself normal.  
  
It’s evening when Doona makes her way through the door, her bare feet pitter-pattering and heels dangling from her hands. “How was work?” Baekhyun asks lowering his glasses. She starts her nightly regime. “It went well. The design for the gallery in Amsterdam was approved. I should be heading over there in the next couple of weeks,” she says with a thick layer of cream over her face. His kiss hovers over her cheek, like one of those faux Europeans at a party. It must look ridiculous but it functions as their normality.  
  
“That’s wonderful,” he says, “I’m proud of you”.  
  
“Father says he is proud of you too. We should consider giving him some grandchildren soon”  
  
“Of course my love”  
  
“We should also consider your birthday. Have you made plans yet?”  
  
“I was thinking… drinking until I forget I’m actually turning thirty?”  
  
She laughs and the sound is so brilliant. He loves to make her laugh when her time is mostly spent at desks, deadlines inscribed into her determined expression.  
  
“An appropriate plan. I’ll write it into my planner. Right next to the reminder to get my husband a gift. Possibly a life,” she says, the last of her giggles popping like delicate bubbles. He waits as she tucks her self into bed and flicks off the table lamp like a well-rehearsed play.  
  
It’s so quiet at night. They are so high up that they barely hear the hum of an engine. He turns his head and observes the way Doona effortlessly falls into deep sleep, gentle in her ways. Baekhyun tries to close his eyes and force it but his consciousness pushes back. Always. Nagging thoughts turning into the monstrous faces of disappointment and failure. His eyes sag. The darkness feels like space. In that half sleep, he maybe imagines a pressure against his wrists. Something about that liquifies his muscles and his mind loses all cognition.  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
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_“So Baekhyun, you fuck her yet?”_  
  
  
  
_“That’s none of your business”_  
  
  
  
_“Oh no… She isn't one of those girls who want to wait till the wedding night is she?”_  
  
  
  
_“Can you stop talking about Doona like that. We’ve only seen each other a few times for Christ’s sake”_  
  
  
  
_“You better curb the whole blasphemy thing if that’s the case dude”_  
  
  
  
_“She isn’t a Christian if that will get you to stop asking”_  
  
  
  
_“And she isn't easy, I get it, fuck calm down... but you’ve at least like grabbed her tits right? Does she feel like a C cup?”_  
  
  
  
_“... look I’ve taken her out. We had really nice conversations and have a lot in common. We study similar things and she wants to see me again. I can’t ruin this man”_  
  
  
  
_“God Baekhyun. You are always like this, you do realise women want sex too right? They want you to show them you are the man, make them feel sexy and shit. Sometimes y you just gotta be like fuck it and listen to your dick”_  
  
  
  
_“I-i will, I mean I-I do know that. I just want to take this slow, she is just very different. She could even become my wife”_  
  
  
  
_“Fuck man, you are serious”_  
  
  
  
_“I am. It makes sense, she makes sense”_  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
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He wasn’t meant to look a second time but he did. Caught in a trap of hazy eyes, dark in colour and in the traces of a command. They told him to keep looking.  
  
As he pulled his tie tight he felt the pressure capture his throat, dry as he met with those extraordinary eyes again in the reflection of the mirror. They held him at a standstill, observing the crinkling of a shirt slipping past shoulders. Bare chest. Baekhyun’s mouth slid open, breath taken from him. His fingers were fixed at his collar, managing to forget their purpose. Heat rose from behind his eyes. The impulse to blink so strong but he didn’t want to look away, not until that skin was gone again. He didn’t know who he was but Baekhyun noticed he was putting on a uniform too except it wasn’t a suit but a stone grey tunic like the walls of the hotel.  
  
His fingers remembered their task when Baekhyun felt he was being watched, flattening the silk of his tie and managing a shaky final check of his hair. And in a moment those eyes were gone and Baekhyun, instead of looking back to find him, forced his head forward as he made his way out of the change rooms, his leather shoes glinting in the warm light.  
  
He signed his name, marking it with the date of his official first day, greeting all heads of staff as they welcomed him to The Evergreen family. That's what they all called it, a family. It was a rainstorm of information. Of names and faces to remember. Of passcodes and which key fit which locks. Of daily operations and security protocol. He was new to this. Perhaps too new. He never held a position with this much responsibility at a place that people like the President had stayed. Everyone he talked to made sure to mention it. It was starting to feel like a towering mass of anxiety, but he made sure that his smile shone brightly to combat the cast of its long shadow.  
  
The head of Presentation was a short man with a nauseating drawl as he explained the intricate and complicated process of waste management. He stood in front of a large team dressed in a familiar stone grey, and then familiar dark eyes, cut from the shadows, hiding a secret that only Baekhyun could decipher.  
  
“Everyone listen up,” and so too did Baekhyun, fiddling with the loose button of his cuff. “Team, this is Byun Baekhyun. He is our boss, our leader and the Evergreen’s newest general manager” he stops talking for a moment, annoyed as his co-ordinator takes over, translating each word clearly in Mandarin. Baekhyun notices most of everyone looks to her nodding along, finally clapping as a formality. “Let's all try to make him feel welcome and don’t be too hard on him, he might not look like much but he still has the power to fire you. Am I right?” he laughs like a hyena. No one follows the woeful attempt at a joke until the translation is punctuated with the same smarmy humour. Baekhyun only cares to look out for one reaction. But those eyes don’t laugh. They just stay locked on to him and Baekhyun thinks that’s the moment when his world started to dismantle.  
  
On closer inspection, pinned to his chest Baekhyun reads the name of the stranger that holds his full attention. Everyone had a name tag, shiny gold and text bold. Yi—xing. Yixing.  
  
Baekhyun thought it beautiful, repeating each syllable in his head like his favourite tune, singing to himself the name that for some cryptic reason buried itself in the earth of Baekhyun’s subconscious and grew its impenetrable roots attaching itself to his soul. Something about that name. He knew it would be with him for a lifetime.  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
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_“Did you enjoy dinner?”_  
  
  
  
_“Of course. I must have looked like a fool though. I’m not familiar with what fork comes first.”_  
  
  
  
_“Don’t worry. My father thought it was endearing. He likes you. I think he sees a lot of himself in you.”_  
  
  
  
_“Really?”_  
  
  
  
_“You are very impressive Byun Baekhyun. I like you very much.”_  
  
  
  
_“As do I, Bae Doona”_  
  
  
  
_“I know this may seem forward but it is our final year and it isn’t every day my father takes to a boy I bring home, but I think we could really make a go of this… after graduation. What do you think?”_  
  
  
  
_“I think that sounds like a wonderful plan.”_  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
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Being alone for two weeks and Baekhyun almost forgets the sound of his wife's voice as she rings out, “I’m back” followed by a trail of luggage handled by their driver. “Thank you Minhyuk that will be all”, she says to him and he bows so low his hat slips off. She giggles and hands it back “he careful you might pull a muscle”. He leaves with this big dumb smile on his face and says he’ll be back tomorrow to pick her up.  
  
Baekhyun meets her at the entrance and notices the way Minhyuk’s eyes linger, try to hold her attention but fails. She is already running to the bathroom and recounting the flight and how the turbulence made her giddy and how the man next to her spoke about his time in the war, how he met his wife and how enthralled she was by the way his hands illustrated each moment with the clarity of a photograph.  
  
Before he closes the door, he lets her voice fade and focuses on Minhyuk’s feet. They scuff the ground in frustration like an eraser blunting itself on paper, almost theatrically disappointed as he slams the door shut and drives off. What a curious thing to see from afar, a desire that crushes the soul.  
  
“This is from father,” she says handing him a package from the front pocket of her purse. It’s wrapped with gold string. “He really shouldn’t. He has already given too much” he replies.  
  
“You know how he is. I’m almost jealous. I think he forgets sometimes that he has a daughter”, resting her chin on his shoulder anticipating the reveal, “well go on... open it”.  
  
When he does, Baekhyun basks at a silver timepiece with an inscription and a brown leather strap now wrapped around his wrist. A small card, embossed with the Evergreen emblem drops to the floor. He picks it up and reads echoing the affection, “To the son I never had. Happy Birthday. This belonged to my great great grandfather. For you to keep in the family”.  
  
His chest rises with pride and Doona kisses him, leaving a hue of deep red at the corner of his lip. Her hands caress his cheek and it makes him think that love must come in many forms. Different types of touch that affect the different parts of his being. It still feels like love. This is what he tells himself.    
  
At night they try to slip into heated kisses that they used to indulge in years ago but it all feels too much when jet lag and long hours at work seem to be suitable excuses to just lay side by side and try and listen to the slow breath of night. The watch rests on his nightstand, a glint of light winking at him before a dream edges at the corners of his mind. He maybe imagines a pressure against his wrist, perhaps the strap is pulled too tight. Fingers grow like roots slipping over palms, gripping down. Yixing’s arms appear like towering tree trunks that sway above him, muscles bending in the breeze. He smells pine, hears leaves hush in the wind. There are trees all around them, a canopy filling the sky. Their shade is cool. Everything feels painless. There is no crushing desire in his dreams, it’s already ground his bones to a fine powder that blooms in the light that makes its way through the branches, glowing hot pink. It’s exquisite this feeling of floating and the hand of gravity that keeps him secure to the warm earth.  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
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His name is blinding, car headlights blowing out the brass sign marking his territory. Two crisp white parallel lines that fit his brand new car. It was a gift Dongho said but it tasted sickeningly sweet. Baekhyun still feels the residue of stomach pangs every time he asks how she hums. Even more so when he palms himself, alone at red lights. When the engine goes silent, Baekhyun slinks his back down leather seats hiding in the darkness, eyeing his watch. He should almost be here.  
  
Something beats the fuck out of his lungs, exhausted already from the excitement rather than his three hour nights of sleep. In the rear view he watches Yixing from a sunrise, all enigmatic and unyielding, walk under dull fluorescence. There are only 25 paces from the entrance to the parking lot to the staff entrance of the Evergreen and it never lasts as long as Baekhyun wishes. It’s the first time he decides to stop watching, to hatch from his self-induced stake out and with the air of natural grace, seemingly bump into his back with the intention that he wasn’t looking. Maybe at a stain on his shirt or the ground he doesn’t care. They might laugh about it and that possibility alone stirs wonder about his head, desperate to see Yixing smile.  
  
When he unlocks the car door, Yixing stops to unzip his backpack, eyes peeled to its insides. Baekhyun breathes in till his lungs still and when he starts to walk forward, his ideal plan falls apart the moment Yixing looks up at the sound of his heel’s click.  
  
Echoes of memories bounce from concrete walls. They rumble through him, trying to knock him down but Baekhyun clings, toes curling down through his soles and into the ground, unwilling to let some distant warning stop him from the softest shadow, a dimple like punctuation ending the poem that is Yixing’s smile. He can read the words, the language so familiar. They invite him to smile back, he even manages a hesitant wave that probably looks more like robotic malfunction. Then Yixing leaves to clock in and Baekhyun, dumbstruck presses a hand to his chest, holed up under the fire stairs, allowing himself to act all juvenile like a kid who says, ‘he is so dreamy’ and means it with all their heart.  
  
It’s without a doubt the single most enchanting moment of his whole day and it only just began.  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
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Catching sight of Yixing makes his steps spring back like a gravitational pull, the main hall now the moon’s surface in some distant galaxy with stardust a glitter swirling around him. He keeps telescopic watch for the brightest star, easy to spot in a void of stone grey. The walls, the uniforms they try to hide him but its camouflage and Baekhyun can see in the dark. His star moves across the sky, finding him sweeping along the edges of the foyer, emptying food scraps in the dining hall or polishing the brass numbers adorning each door.  
  
He especially makes sure to stand at the concierge desk at midday, each week to see Yixing wipe down the marble surface, slowing his pace down just a fraction. It's then he gets to see him up close and marvel at his beauty and the way he sucks the flesh of his bottom lip right before he turns away to attend to another errand, perhaps hiding a smile. The thought is enough to kill Baekhyun, there is no oxygen in space.  
  
Work becomes Yixing. In between the lists of responsibilities he checks off, he hopes that the next person to round the corner will be him. He tries to smile properly as if he just recognised all the others were insincere, a half attempt at politeness. The tingles along his skin make up for the embarrassment, like a shot of pure ecstasy. Nothing compares to the thrill when Yixing looks directly at him, unwavering as he bows his head hello.  
  
He grows dizzy at the sight of a puddle. A couple giggles and tumble into a room, a bottle of red in their hands.  
  
“GM to Presentation,” he directs into the radio, “I need a mop outside room 113”  
  
“Copy that”  
  
His chest locks up, watching the clock tick like a melting glacier. In the distance, he hears the ring of the service lift, and each footstep falls in perfect sync with his heart. He lifts his head only minutely to see if it's him, hoping that it is and the cogs in his head catch on a thought, the irrational requirement that he must see Yixing at least once more before he has to leave what has become this blissful oasis of the Evergreen.  
  
Baekhyun’s hope is the gentle hands that grip the splintered wood of the handle. It's forearms that tighten as Yixing gradually manoeuvres tousled strands soaking up every last drop of wine. Baekhyun almost mourns its disappearance. But then, “you missed a spot,” he says, “behind me”. Yixing looks to him, and his expression changes to one of slight confusion as he packs away his trolley. “Sorry,” he returns and Baekhyun thinks his voice sounds like honeycomb melting against tongue, “No Korean,” his accent narrow at the back of his throat. Baekhyun winces at the words because he should have known that. So instead of repeating himself, he points at the smattering of red wine left by his heel. He moves to the side as Yixing steps closer mop in hand, drawing slow circles around the hardwood floors, his shoulder making the faintest contact with Baekhyun’s chest. His muscles do that thing where they melt right before he slips into a dream. He doesn’t dare move, breathing in wisps of bleach. Yixing turns to him slowly, the deep amber light curving softly along the angle of his cheek. He can feel his breath, he is so close. Closer than he ever has been. Wants to push into him, limbs that compress with so much force they merge into a single organism. Uncomprehendingly beautiful—-  
  
“Contol to GM, we have a situation in the dining room. Chef refuses to re-cook a dish for an unsatisfied guest”. It’s distorted and sounds like devastation. Yixing pulls away. Baekhyun’s jaw trembles from the tension as he sees to the call and silently wishes that the flambe duck would just burn to a fucking crisp.  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
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Baekhyun takes his lunch in the staff cafeteria. Something about the rice pudding puts Baekhyun at ease, remembering how his mother used to make it before her hands were crushed, ground down by factories and their mechanical disregard for skin and tendons and how they hold the human spirit together.  
  
So many people greet him, bow down deep and always engage him with questions that seem like each person cares so deeply about how his day is going. If he were to speak with honesty he would say that the highlight is catching Yixing staring at him from the corner of his eye. But instead, he says, “today has been great. Everyone has been hard working, thank you”.  
  
He considers manners to be most stifling, the tie he chose clinging at his neck as he swallows down pleasantries. He escapes to a seat right next to the water cooler and angles himself so he can peer up and observe Yixing’s last five minutes of his lunch break. He usually eats with a woman with grey hair and deep crows feet. She holds her lunchbox like a treasure, egg sandwiches covered in linen. She offers half to Yixing but he declines as always. Instead, he listens to her talk with a smile on her face, voice warm like spiced tea. He nods along and suppresses laughs behind hands. Baekhyun looks down at a stack of fine print yet to be read, but Yixing is this burning distraction pulling his attention back to the far end of the room.  
  
“Look, I bet they are talking shit about us,” A man says. He is surrounded by a gaggle of men with shiny hair and a slant to their shoulders that tip towards conceit at least that is what Baekhyun decides. He recognises the voice as that of the same man with the hyena laugh and dead dreams of stand up comedy, his name never sticking wiped clean from Baekhyun’s memory. Another man, shovelling food into his mouth spits when he asks, “who?”  
  
“Those” he gestures with a jerk of his chin, soup dribbling down. His voice is implicit, twisting with judgement when Baekhyun follows his line of vision to that of the object of his affection and the woman knitting beside him, speaking to each other with foreign words that irk and rattle the man’s shoulders as he keeps whispering to his apparent friends, “I swear my department is full of them. They gotta be breeding like fucking feral cats.”  
  
“All those jobs down the shitter…”  
  
Baekhyun’s nose scrunches at the stink, listening intently at their conversation right over his shoulder. “You talk to Dongho about it?” Another asks and its snivelling like a sycophant. “He insists. Says to me, a feral cat may bite, but with a kind hand, they’ll be loyal till the end or some bullshit like that. Maybe if they do a good job I’ll pat ‘em on the head”, they all laugh and one chokes on his water. Baekhyun looks down at his porridge and instead of seeing his mother’s hands stir a steaming pot, the coagulation of grain hardening makes him feel sick.  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
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“Do you understand words? Huh? Get in there and look for it, idiot.” A hand shoves Yixing against thick steel, his boss in a total rage, muttering to himself about important documentation. Baekhyun hears the shouting on his way to lunch, limbs going numb at the sight of Yixing’s eyes cowering at the avalanche of noise.  
  
“What is going on here?” The charge in his voice still unsure as he readies himself to be blasted. But instead of vile spluttering, Baekhyun sees a shift towards an affable countenance, “Sir, I’m so sorry for my outburst,” his teeth clenched in a smile that Baekhyun recognises in his own: hollow, “it’s just my member of staff here disposed of something quite valuable to your father-in-law. A package he was expecting. You understand the need to be diligent”.  
  
He looks over to Yixing who isn’t saying a word, just chronicles every thought through the intensity of his eyes. “Yes, I can” Baekhyun replies, “He is a man who expects the best. I’m sure he would be disappointed at the manhandling of the people who work for him”. Something about seeing that man’s smile fall reminds him of how much power he can wield with just the tip of his tongue. “I wouldn't have to if he just did his job right. That type of thing could get someone fired” he can’t tear his gaze from the vision of Yixing’s confusion, his only understanding of the threat hiding in the dark tone of his boss and the way he points an accusatory finger in anger.  
  
Baekhyun is running on the adrenaline whirring through him, unwilling to let anyone destroy any bit of spirit that belongs to Yixing. “Well then you’ll just have to fire me if that’s the case” he decides to lie. It's exceptionally easy especially when he can snub this asshole right under his shoe.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“If it’s in relation to my father then I assume this was something found in his office correct?”  
  
“Well… yes”  
  
“Then it was me who gave Yixing here the request to clean his office before he came back from his business trip. If anyone is to blame it is me. I will address it with my father when he returns”.  
  
“But, but you don’t understand—“  
  
“What does it look like?”  
  
“It should be in a standard mail parcel, addressed to the boss”  
  
“Well, you needn’t worry then. I’ll help look for it. If it was thrown out it should be here, right? I have this covered you may leave” the final blow feeling like twisting his toe into pavement. The man with no name retreats with his dignity slightly dented, but he’d much rather gage Yixing and the intricacies of his reaction. His hands are slightly dirtied escaping to his back pockets. “Xiè Xie”, Yixing says almost as if he is self-aware, that intensity briefly gone as he bows. Baekhyun slips off his blazer and undoes each cuff to roll up each sleeve. Every movement seems to slow to a standstill.  
  
Yixing looks and Baekhyun can’t breathe again the oxygen thinning around him. He bends his knees and with clasped hands anticipates Yixing’s recognition. Then he is cradling Yixing’s weight by the foot so he can scale the dumpster and climb in. Body heat rests against his shoulder enough to grow high. He is so close and all Baekhyun wishes to do is get closer. Remain closer. So he follows, pulling himself up and over and letting arms brace him so he won’t fall. His body does that thing again where it defies gravity like in a dream.    
  
They find a package, stamped and tied with brown string between stacks of paper and amused glances, talking to each other with the flutter of an eyelash. Baekhyun refuses to let it end. So he waits in the carpark again, lightning strikes and the dashboard rattles.  
  
The rain makes the beyond murky, the world outside the Evergreen a mere fiction that exists only when they step through the reflection of each raindrop. Baekhyun pulls up to the precipice, foot on the break to stop it all from ending before they must gather their things and leave this place of cosmic expanses to land back in the world of real things that Baekhyun refuses to believe in. He leans over the dash, the stretch of his torso bridging himself and his fantastical ideas to this person, waiting, the tips of his sneakers feeling the hard edge of the spattering downpour, just before the sky opens up and Baekhyun can see from empty hands that Yixing has no umbrella.  
  
When the car door opens Yixing slips inside without a whisper as if he was always there, to begin with at least that’s what Baekhyun’s brain and its tendency to think about being fucked in the back seat thinks. Baekhyun follows the direction of Yixing’s hands that signal a left towards the part of town Baekhyun only had the opportunity to galavant as a pipsqueak when he played with his loose teeth and tried to impress the bigger boys by throwing rocks at strangers cars. Cars like the one he is driving now probably. A perfect, shiny target for a band of misfit kids with parents too overworked or too dead to keep at home but that sort of detail is for later.  
  
Yixing stops him at a dead end, beyond is a fence nearly torn down from overgrown ivy. Yixing points again at the block of flats built like a stack of cubes and says “home”, but his eyes say something else the word can’t. Says it’s just a place of residence with no discerning features except cardboard patchwork over broken windows and other missing pieces.  
  
Baekhyun smiles regardless because they talk more in the silence and he can understand everything. His cheeks hurt and the last few rays of sun decide to light up Yixing and his intent growing strong under the brightest orange. The click of his belt buckle sounds louder than the thunderclaps, rattling Baekhyun’s resolve trying to anticipate what will happen now that they are learning what it means to be completely alone and how it’s akin to a house at night, running scared in the corner from a faint bump in the night, even when the windows are shut and the doors are locked, the mind still runs wild.  
  
Baekhyun keeps looking at his key ring hanging from the ignition, misshapen plastic and baring a bootleg appearance to Mickey Mouse helped by one of his ears broken off. “He can’t hear so good”, Baekhyun says and demonstrates the meaning blocking his right ear. He giggles and he regrets it because now he looks as nervous as he feels. Yixing pokes the plastic trinket and it swings back and forth, calming like hypnosis.  
  
Maybe that’s why his muscles do that thing where they melt into his blood as a heat draws closer. It’s a sun and Baekhyun is a planet pulled into the force of its gravity and when he dares to turn to its light he just sees Yixing and his small smile. He knew one day the planets would collide and the universe would end.  
  
His kiss is so violent and abrupt. Yixing’s hands are pulling at his smiling cheeks tonguing his teeth because Baekhyun is so abundantly happy. So happy to die like this, pulverised by the sun. Then as his final breaths shake he watches Yixing out the door and into the rain all blurry and Baekhyun thinks as he licks saliva off his lips that Yixing looks just like his soul drifting from his dying body.  
  
 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Imagine a piece of string dancing in the breeze, swirling and caught in flight. When the wind settles all that’s left is a ball knot, ends lost amongst the woven chaos._

 

 

-

 

 

  
  
Afternoons are wordless expanses of tangerine skies. Extensions of a secret that span the length of empty roads back to a kind of home that Baekhyun’s belly ache yearns to return to. He doesn’t need direction anymore, the path is already mapped out in his mind playing it back so often that he will never forget it until the spot marked x is imprinted, like gold emboss on skin.   
  
His vision sometimes blurs when Yixing makes to leave soft touches against his wrist along the way, and even if the world were to haze over in the thickest fog, he could still steer his car safely back to that block of crumbling flats, to that quiet cul de sac where daydreams end and become real.  
  
Silence, Baekhyun has come to notice is so much more deafening than the constant string of radio hiss and the screech of dissatisfied voices complaining of petty ridiculousness. His eyes will gloss over then, and past the broad shoulders of guests, he spots those beautiful concealed looks his way. Just for him are the softest smiles standing out in the fog. It follows him and swirls against the surface of the car windows as if they are suspended in a cloud and his stomach leaps because they are so high up.  
  
The leaves are brown now, crumbling in the wind. Baekhyun can hear them, perhaps down below where his parked car sits along with thier bodies, the hum of the engine dissipating. Baekhyun’s back presses against the door, and it hurts but in the best way. Yixing’s hands are against his chest and feel bigger than they really are because Baekhyun doesn’t have the strength to push back, already breathless from holding it in ever since they escaped. A ghost of a kiss, haunting his body whispers against his ear. Nothing moves except Yixing’s lips pulling at skin that wants to be ripped from the bone. Yixing’s eyes are fixed on his pulse, visible at the side of his neck then Baekhyun feels a tongue against it, and it races, faster trying to catch up to the feeling travelling down to his toes. The fog clears. He opens his eyes to see a forest, dense and claustrophobic. They are lost now in the middle of a tangled desire as Yixing’s arms pull him in, holding on to each other, protected from the wild.  
  
Baekhyun is so hard when his hips move against Yixing’s, torso solid like the trunk of a tree, unmoving hands that stay rooted at Baekhyun’s back pockets. Baekhyun lets himself be carried because he is just a leaf, anchored to branches as wind blows and all he has to do is hold on, smelling pine and sweat at Yixing’s nape, licking at it because his mouth is useless until Yixing brings him into a kiss, one that’s more like a knot impossible to pull apart. The Yixing’s lips suck at his tongue, panting hotness down his neck and Baekhyun knows that he is so near his highest point when Yixing leans him into focus with eyes that scream at him. Baekhyun cries, silent from the pressure against every point in his body wanting to be closer. Tears that Yixing’s kisses catch along a stain of pink cheeks. Tears that glow orange like the setting sun and don’t stop shining when Yixing holds him harder around the ribcage, and maybe he doesn’t need to breathe when he feels like he is dying.  
  
Then it ends.  
  
Something slams hard against the windshield, louder than the silence. A ricochet of brokenness that rings out dissonant and strange and when Baekhyun turns around there is blood seeping into the cracks. Wings quiver, violent with the last remains of its life in the sky.  
  
He wipes the saliva off his face as he observes Yixing remove the corpse of a pigeon from the glass and finds a place amongst the tall grass for it.  
  
Afternoons are far too short.

 

 

 

-

 

 

  
  
_“Byun Baekhyun, will you stop that at once.”_  
  
_“Sorry Sir”_  
  
_“Spitting is not tolerated on school grounds.”_  
  
_“Yes, Sir. I promise to work harder.”_  
  
_“Good boy. It's a disgusting habit. Show some respect when you are in your uniform. Tuck in your shirt as well. Now run along, don’t be late for class”._

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Baekhyun manages to find enough shrapnel to cover the cost of his bus ticket. The ride home was a cramped reminder of how big the city is when he always sees it from high above. He sat by the window, head-rattling with every bump thinking how nice it was not to have to concentrate on left turns and merging lanes. Upon alighting, he left on a cliffhanger, the women behind weaving a story of intrigue involving their boss and the embezzlement of astronomical amounts of money that Baekhyun had been eavesdropping on.  
  
He gets home later than usual. Doona is in bed already, reading a novel by the yellow light of a lamp. “You’re home?” he manages to mumble as he loosens the laces of his leather shoes. She hums, and it sounds faint like a memory buried under water. As he lays back against the pillows, his eyes close hoping to end the day as fast as possible. The need for the next day only drums in him the heat of anticipation. He can’t sleep.  
  
“Is it a good story?” he asks for distraction, but Doona is far too immersed, transported into other worlds. She hums again.  
  
“I had to put my car in the shop. The windscreen has a crack in it. The guy said he'd do a full service”.  
  
“Hmm?” the sound is caught in a yawn as she rubs her eyes from the strain, her attention peaks and says, “are you hurt?”.  
  
“I’m okay.”  
  
“Good. I’ll be off in a week to Barcelona again. I’m meeting with the gallery owners to maybe secure another contract.”  
  
“Oh,” Baekhyun says with a faint smile as if reminded of something. “That’s amazing Doona.”  
  
“You can use my car if you need to”.  
  
Baekhyun smells lavender oil on the palms of her hands as they comb through his hair. “Maybe I’ll pull out my old bike, eh? Get some exercise now that I’m an old man,” he says like a joke and peddling his feet in the air. Doona kisses his cheek as she laughs along with the sleep under her eyes. He wants to cry then. He pulls the parts of himself that want to fall apart together, because she is lovely with each gesture of love, more sweet and genuine when she is on the brink of sleep but then carries on reading because the words reel her back into their magic. The scent of lavender on still on his cheek.  
  
But Baekhyun’s hands remain unmoving, unloving, his eyes are closing, and his words are formed out of what he should say. As if words had lost all meaning and use, not when he can silently navigate his own world of misted forests and the blink of Yixing’s eyes. He doesn’t need words.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Waiting tastes of soured milk. He grows to hate the way it curls on his tongue, unable to rid its gross aftertaste. He wants that sweet, warm milk, heated with fire and sweetened with drips of honey. Wants for it to drizzle down his chin. He wants Yixing, but he isn’t here yet.  
  
Baekhyun waits, rotting at his post at the concierge desk, riddled with want and mindlessly answering emails with insincerity. Yixing is supposed to come over, scheduled with a wet rag as his excuse. It’s the perfect guise, these roles they play. Baekhyun dutifully fulfilling his daily responsibilities, his concern focused on the shine of every surface and Yixing waiting for orders because that’s all he really has to do to appear every bit the compliant employee.  
  
Baekhyun with his mind wandering through the shadows of his day finds Yixing in bright sparks of light. Blubs flickering to life with the invention of a mess in back rooms or hidden hallways so he can feel Yixing’s warmth and let him take him. Pantries appear as tidy as they ever were, shelves stacked with the precision of a keen eye, and windows pristine in their transparency, unmarked. It's the perfect excuse to make a mess of their mouths, to rummage through their desire, hair in distress then they lick it all clean.  
  
It’s the wait between those bubbles of saturated excitement that Baekhyun wishes to abolish, like dissection and then sew himself back up to Yixing, hands tangled behind backs. But then the phone rings, and it's from administration with a request that he make it to the office, a vague sense of inflexibility in her voice. Baekhyun thinks it’s just a bother because he’ll surely miss the opportunity to steal Yixing away now. The offices are quiet at this time of day. There are rows of desks, office chairs abandoned and dressed in cream blazers. Everyone is out to lunch, and they usually take it by the river, because they have the time, the money,  the right. He never gets an invite.  Everyone bows their head because he is the boss’ son and maybe that's enough not to get any closer.  
  
Baekhyun walks as if there is nothing in his way and its why the hand pulling him back by the elbow irks him. The secretary looks on apologetically, her hand whipping back into place by her hip, “Sorry Sir” she says with a rasp to her voice, “Sir Bae Dongho is almost finished with a meeting. He asked for you to wait”.  
  
“When did he arrive?” Baekhyun says, total confusion hiding just under a thin layer of apparent awareness. Doona made no mention of his return from Russia. Maybe it is a surprise? One that comes in a strange package, marked as a gift, wrapped in gold. But something about its shape and size does not correlate, empty in its weightlessness.  
  
“Just this morning Sir”, her eyes are painted blue, and Beakhyun can see how it’s trying to hide how dark they really are. Her thumb is stained with the black ink when she covers her mouth, coughing and then her eyes go back to their task that has nothing much to do with Baekhyun anymore. So he waits. It tastes revolting. He sits by a potted plant smelling like manufactured plastic. Its green is hyperreal, and Baekhyun gets lost in the way nature is so easily imitated. He touches the groves along each leaf just to be sure. Then—  
  
“Baekhyun, My Son. How I’ve missed you my dear boy”, which makes the minutes sitting in absolute silence worth it. Baekhyun is happy to see his father, with open arms pulling him into an embrace as if he had been way much longer than a month. “Hello, father in law. It is good to see you again”, the bumble of laughter falling out of his voice as he is tugged from side to side.  
  
“I must congratulate you,” he says, hands tightly at Baekhyun’s shoulders and looking the pinnacle of proud, a real twinkle in his eye. Baekhyun is bemused at the praise, but soaks in the warmth regardless and asks, “If it's my job you mean, I just try my best”.  
  
“And this is why you have always been the right man for the job. Honesty”, he said with the kind of passion that moves something in Baekhyun because he doesn’t know whether that’s true or not so its gratitude he speaks, “Thank you again for the opportunity”.  
  
“Come into my office Baekhyun, I have someone for you to meet. Someone who I think you already know and will agree is also an honest worker”.  
  
And in the light of a waning sun, there stands Baekhyun’s Everything. He looks too handsome with a cheek aglow and eyes cut from soft shadows. His lips whispering love at him with only the faintest paint stroke of the deepest dimple. But instead of tasting sweet open kisses, Baekhyun has to restrain the rush of pure delight and remain every bit the good son.  
  
“I have already spoken with Yixing here. But he informed me of your tireless effort to retrieve a certain package mailed to me. I have to say Baekhyun, that dedication is something I expect and I am most thankful that you both went the extra mile to achieve it” he talks and Baekhyun fights to listen, distracted by the quiet of Yixing’s breath, catching on the hook of Baekhyun’s glances.  
  
“It is why I am rewarding Yixing here with a promotion. He will now be a team leader. He has been here quite a while already, and I’m sure he will slip into the role with ease, but Baekhyun, please work together if he should require support. This is the type of work culture I am so so proud to see at the Evergreen. Please keep it up”.  
  
Then Dongho speaks Mandarin,  confident, strength in the back of his throat. When he laughs, so does Yixing and its the first time he has ever truly resented his father in law. After a final word, his Everything leaves and Beakhyun is left basking at dusty rays of light. There heat on his skin, the imprint of Yixing’s touch meant as a promise on his lower back.    
  
“By the way Baekhyun” Dongho, making sure the door is closed, takes him by the shoulder again. His spine hardens. “I wanted to stress how important that package was”, his voice hushed now like it’s all a secret. “Listen, I have this get-together with friends up in the penthouse each month. I’d very much like for you to join us for the next one. See how you all get along”, and maybe it’s the way the grip on his neck forces their heads together but Baekhyun doesn’t feel as if there is a choice in the offer.  
  
“Of course father in law. It would be an honour”.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Room 304 is an unlocked door. The words “cleaning in process” are a sign to ward off entry, but for Baekhyun it is a code. He understands that he can turn the handle and he can’t breathe when there is a thick fog that cascades from within as the door narrowly opens. Inside there are still traces of the night before, of people,  sheets in a tangle on the carpet and a chair knocked out of place by the writing desk in the corner. With a quiet step, he goes to put it back in its place, and there is a creak of a door’s hinges that tickle his ears.  
  
Yixing emerges from the en-suite, removing rubber gloves and he doesn’t look a bit surprised to see the hunched back of Baekhyun fiddling with bits of stationary and making perfect piles of pamphlets. It hard when his fingers can’t stop trembling.  
  
Baekhyun hears the slow patter of footsteps, secretly smiling towards the window and hoping they’ll stop right at his heel. In the impatient silence, the sound of linen sheets being stripped from the bed tears like paper and Baekhyun shivers when he tries to turn around. With his eyes, he asks the question “do you need help?” And makes sure they glow as bright as they can. Permission is granted with a smile, shy because Yixing has to turn away and Baekhyun warms at that feeling that this is all still so new.  
  
With two pairs of hands, the blinding whiteness of linen billows and blooms with the light from wide open view of the city below. The river appears like a python swallowing a rabbit whole.  
  
The Evergreen emblem lays flat with the final fold, a saturation of vibrant green and precise embroidery just by Baekhyun’s fingertips. Or is it the feeling of a fallen leaf. There are more tumbling from above and bouncing against the mattress. Their fragrance fills Baekhyun’s mind with dense forest, the air thick and branches firm as he swings from their great height, because his stomach floats, compounded into his chest when he hangs upside down.  
  
There is distant crackle, static that falls to nothing when Yixing is at arm's length with a hand at his waist. Baekhyun thinks with the last remains of his weathered logic that it must be his radio. “Off”, Yixing says. A single word and he already misses the way it snaps him to attention. Now they are finally lost in the depth of the woods. Ultimately alone.  
  
Yixing touches him through his jacket, a hand slipping under the lapel just to feel at his heartbeat. Yixing kisses his cheek and Baekhyun fauns with the slow release of air. He can’t do anything when Yixing cups the side of his face except force his eyes open till they water, a watercoloured close up of dreamy eyes. He feels heavy, a paralysis of sorts when Yixing pushes him against the wall. It hurts, and Baekhyun feels even harder. Yixing touches him there, and the sound he makes is pathetically brittle like a single caress would break him.  
  
Yixing breathes with composure, delicate fingers running down between them, slowly and softly. Baekhyun is unspooled, lost in a spiral. He hiccups, a gargle at the back of his throat. Saliva runs down his chin and Yixing licks it up, running the tip of his tongue over Baekhyun’s lips that wobble along with the equilibrium of his mind, tipping over with the weight of honey.  
  
Yixing holds him at his jaw, pinching the flesh of his cheeks burnt from the heat of his touch. When Baekhyun loses the strength in his neck Yixing forces him to look up and what he sees is a plea in between the brown of Yixing’s eyes and the sparkle of tears. It’s a request spoken in a language only Baekhyun can understand nodding feverish yeses.  
  
He whimpers when Yixing bears his teeth and sinks a painful kiss along his neck. There is only heat blowing, tongues flicking and the gloss of lips sucking. Its as if every gesture is woven into him, sinks past his skin and melts into his muscles. He moves with Yixing though the forest, finding comfort somewhere soft. They fall into each other, stitched under and over creating knots in the sheets, kisses like a needle pulling thread, vibrant colours stitched wildly into cloth.  
  
When Baekhyun opens his eyes, Yixing is miles above, hair like ferns curling into the treetops, the sky reflected in the whites if his eyes. He grabs ahold of Yixing’s bare thighs as if to climb up, but Yixing is already on him, straddling his body to the ground. Baekhyun leaves his mouth open, and it’s the first time he gets to feel Yixing’s cock against his lips, kisses at the taste of bitter salt and sucks on his blood.  
  
And sometimes Yixing floats down to earth where Baekhyun is waiting in piles of fallen leaves to give him kisses like raindrops, wetness drawing from his tip with each one. “Open” Yixing says, thumbs entering the edges of Baekhyun lips. Yixing’s gaze shifts with the southern winds. Rainclouds are thick, brooding in his eyes with expectation. Yixing spits into his mouth, hitting the back of Baekhyun's throat like hail and he swallows it down with a gasp because it tastes like gold.  
  
There is no more reason to breath when Yixing enters him, brutal in the way he pulls at Baekhyun’s hair. Brutal in the way he draws his lips open, Baekhyun’s offer of an open mouth. Sucking his cock is hot pink, burning his tongue. Then there is only the heat of Yixing’s come, and Baekhyun moans for it, fingers clutching for more.  
  
Everything is oozing out hot from Yixing’s tongue, swirling and circling the parts of Baekhyun that shine with laughter. He doesn’t want to abandon this cool shade of towering trees and the smell of leaves in Yixing’s hair.  
  
And when the mist settles, the bed is a mess, and the sheet is covered in smudges. In this locked room, a secret is cleaned up and they kiss each other goodbye.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Baekhyun can’t find Yixing today. It’s that man he finds instead. The one that yells and makes for poor company. The one that Baekhyun finally managed to make his name stick. Joon. Short like his temper. Baekhyun figures he might as well ask because he still is Yixing’s boss. He shivers in the cold; a back alley break where everyone smokes cigarettes and leaves the buds behind a dumpster.  
  
Joon doesn’t turn his head when Baekhyun clears his throat, dry with gross anticipation.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“What?” The word ending just short, cut with the sharpness of a blade. He still won’t turn his head, and Baekhyun decides to be offended at the disrespect.  
  
“I’m still your superior. You will address me as such”, back teeth grinding as he waits for a reply. Joon’s smirk is spiteful in the shadow of the Evergreen. “What is it, Sir?” dragging out cigarette smoke with pinched cheeks.  
  
“I’m looking for one of your staff. Yixing where is he today?”  
  
“What makes you think I know? Oh wait…” and he says it with a twist of sarcasm, finger tapping his chin, scarred and dimples, “You and that rat are quite chummy indeed. Going behind my back, taking credit where credit is due. He didn’t deserve that pat on the back. You both stole that from me. And what?... Now you are trying to plan something else together. Get me fired? Ha!”  
  
“Is this about that package?” A drop of concern falls in the pit of Baekhyun's gut.  
  
“This is about the fact I’ve been working here for 10 years, and suddenly you come along and give handouts to those that don’t even belong here in the first place. You were given that suit and that superiority. My respect isn't free”. Joon’s expression is concrete, hardened and cold. Baekhyun watches as he exhales stale air, fingers slightly green. He turns away, mechanical and finally mutters, “I couldn’t care less where your _accomplice_ is”.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Baekhyun finds his old red bike in the back of a wardrobe. It topples over a cardboard box of old trinkets he thought he had left behind in another life. Photographs, faded into obscurity and when he sees his mother’s face in the background of a beach picnic his smile is permanent and pure because he was sure he forgot what she looked like. There is a letter of acceptance from his university of choice, and he wonders what kind of praise she would give him if she were to know. Most likely the type to be hidden behind his favourite home cooked meal and a shy kiss on the forehead after he fell asleep.  
  
“I’m off!” Doona calls from the front door, Minhyuk’s hands filled with luggage. Baekhyun almost forgets to say goodbye.  
  
He has the day off work and decides without a thread of doubt that his time will be filled entirely with Yixing. So in a pair of old blue jeans, that’s just about to fall to pieces he rides his rusted bike through the city and towards the frayed fringes. The air is thick today, and the wind slaps him awake when his vision keeps hazing over with thoughts of Yixing. He thinks he knows the number of the unit because on those brisk afternoons he’d watch Yixing slip past the door, the darkness of that room sucking him out of Baekhyun’s life.  
  
He knocks at the third door along an oblong balcony covered in dried up moss. Baekhyun heart beats wildly, limbs shook from the anticipation, and when the door finally opens after aeons, Baekhyun leaps to his arms. “Yixing” he hums into his neck breathing in the sweetness. Yixing, all of a sudden, appears wide-eyed, like the innocence of a dear and Baekhyun cradles that look, caresses it with a gentle hand.  
  
“Baekhyun… why- here?” Yixing’s words are broken and strangely hesitant as he closes the door behind him. Baekhyun kisses him because he is impatient, selfishness in the way he grabs at any opportunity weave himself back together. His kiss grows more profound, and Yixing falls into it, Baekhyun feeling the way his tongue starts to move, the way he latches on, the innocence that was there, slowly melting away.  
  
“Come,” Baekhyun says pulling at Yixing’s arms, making some sort of gesture for them to go somewhere, to escape again to find a bubble where they can bond, bodies melding. In the creases of his forehead, Yixing deliberates over the force that's pulling him away, until he looks up with mischief and its enough to make Baekhyun’s senses detonate. He waits for Yixing to fetch a ring of keys, and in the narrow opening of the door Baekhyun tries to take a peek inside, but it’s too dark to see.  
  
It’s a tug of war over who is the leader, as they find themselves walking towards fields, a line of trees bending by a glitter of water. The city is off to the side, and by the time the sun is beaming in the middle of an open sky they’ve forgotten where they are. Yixing's laughter is earsplitting as he struggles to take a breath. He keeps asking “where? Where?” and Baekhyun only shrugs with childish indifference, pulling and pulling as they get closer and closer to the trees. Yixing runs ahead, and Baekhyun yells after him, a call that dissipates in the open field. It’s harder to run when everything is tall grass and steep hills. Baekhyun hurls himself at Yixing, a certified tackle that has them rolling down the other side, catching leaves and other bits of wildlife.  
  
They reach the edge of a river, grass matted and curling in the mud. It smells of the earth’s beating heart and Baekhyun smiles at the feeling of his bare feet. Yixing follows, tiptoeing along bulbous roots that snake their way up towards a giant tree. Its shade is flat leaves still in full bloom, a wax finish to its flesh. Yixing picks at a bushel further along the river, and Baekhyun calls out to him, “Yixing!” his name perfectly pronounced. He races back crushing the fragrance of Rosemary in his hand. “Mí dié xiāng”, feeding the smell to Beakhyun, who can’t stop biting away at his happiness, lips now the colour of his want.  
  
He kisses Yixing’s wrist, a careful one that’s full of patience, something about the sound of water and the infinity of its existence. His thumbs make their way over the transparency of his skin, the faintness of blue veins and the texture of goosebumps. Baekhyun wants to examine every fine hair that travels up forearms and touches the dips in Yixing’s shoulders. Everything about Yixing feels hard, built like tall trees. His hands feel like roots spiralling around his neck and stopping the air. They grow into his skin, pull at his hair and draw him into the earth. Yixing weaves his branches through each of his ribs, towards his back and down his spine, each kiss like a new leaf catching the sun.  
  
Baekhyun tires to hold him in return, but his arms loose strength every-time, invaded by Yixing and the way he wields nature under the grip of his hand. He takes Baekhyun’s face and licks into his mouth, again and again, tongue touching the depths of a soft moan. When Yixing releases him, Baekhyun is spinning, laughter that’s half-born from the thrill of being transported, thrown through the air.

His jeans feel stiff and rigid and underneath his skin is melting. So in the shade of this daydream, with the sound of tall grass in the wind and the bubble of a brook, Baekhyun lets everything fall from his body, dripping like hot wax, Yixing the burning flame. Then he is on his back with his legs apart, and the sun is so bright he can’t hide the blooming pink of his hole. He doesn’t touch himself and waits with closed eyes for Yixing to move through him. His chest hurts as it falls up and down with a tremor of fear because he feels nothing, only the dampness of the earth below.  
  
“Baekhyun. Baekhyun. Baekhyun” Yixing whispers as if it were actually the air hovering above his nose. His eyes take time to adjust to the light, but then Baekhyun realises its just Yixing’s smile beaming down on him. It's like the sun turns hot pink, and his vision burns with the feeling of fingers by his tip. They slip over the wetness and Baekhyun’s moans are silent and aching. His hands travel down, and Baekhyun can’t stop looking at Yixing and begging with caught breaths that break apart his voice into crooked whines.  
  
Yixing fucks him with his fingers. He goes as far as a strange tingling Baekhyun has never felt before as if Yixing has always known about these secret parts of himself that make it seems like his body will erupt. His fingers are consistent and strong, and Baekhyun arms shake all on their own. Building tremors  are all he can think about when his mind is fizz and sizzle. Yixing bites at his nipples and Baekhyun's back contorts from the shot of pure joy, twigs poking into the flesh of his ass. Yixing’s tongue licks at his ears and his cock jolts. Yixing’s touches make him shiver along with silver blades of grass that caress his skin. Yixing determines every felling. Then he takes him. He fucks into him. Baekhyun thinks they’re hovering above the ground in a place that is nowhere, but that can’t be because his wrists are pinned to the earth. His eyes spin when Yixing becomes fierce. He cries, they must be flying. It’s brilliant.

 

 

 

Baekhyun sniffles as the air cools, but he doesn’t want to move. Yixing holds him against his chest, nails drawing along his spine. It tickles in the most divine way. The groves of the tree are cavernous, and they’ve found a secret hiding place. Yixing keeps kissing the top of his head, and Baekhyun thinks he is falling in love. Baekhyun’s hands are covered in soil, but he smells Rosemary all over himself.  
  
There is an ant on Yixing’s nipple. Baekhyun notices the way its minuscule legs twiddle as if lost. He takes it with the edge of his fingernail and wonders if it knows he could kill it. That its life is in his hands. How small and insignificant it seems. Yixing takes his hand and guides the creature to the smooth surface of the tree trunk. There is a line of them travelling up towards the sky. He observes its instincts as it follows the leader up and up and up.  
  
He strains his neck peering at the twist of branches above and how they seem to be born from each other. He thinks he sees himself there, in a school uniform crying for his mother, “I broke my arm one time climbing a tree. It was at school. I got stuck trying to reach the sky”.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 _“Byun Baekhyun come down this instant! It’s too dangerous!”_  
  
_“No!”_  
  
_“Please! You’ll hurt yourself! if you keep climbing, you’ll fall!”_  
  
_“But mommy’s up there! I want to see her!”_  
  
_“Your mother… Byun Baekhyun just please come down.”_  
  
_“...Where did she go?”_  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

_Imagine a piece of string, attached at each joint. It holds you up. Stops you from falling because your limbs are wooden._

 

 

-

 

  
  
The fax machine wasn't working. Baekhyun had been on hold for the last half hour, inane saxophone humming in his ear. The day was one giant malfunction. Complaints rained down on him from the early morning, the wetness of it seeping into his skin; waterlogged fingertips and now he couldn't get a grip on the feeling slipping and sliding through him. This unsettling slime, transforming into shapes unknown to him. However, it seemed to grow spikes at the thought of tonight. Baekhyun would make his debut in high society as it were, shaking hands with the men that had Dongho's ear.    
  
The fax machine still wasn't working after an hour of troubleshooting. Sweat was building on his lower back. He'd just have to wait for a technician, who decided to take his time, Baekhyun didn't have. He had documents to read and sign. He had a meeting with the Minister of Agriculture at 1 to go over charity function details and whether the Ballroom should be coloured in gold or silver trimmings. He had a phone ringing off the hook because the plumbing was blocked on level three, which meant the plumbing was most liking blocked on level two. Then he had Yixing, who wasn't even there yet, and all he wanted to do really was think about that perfect tranquillity of being locked up in Yixing's embrace.  
  
His mind was in danger of self-destruction, hiding in the back room behind the desk. The service bell chimed, but still stalled at the door. He caught his reflection in the shine of glass. His face was all wrong, so he corrected it with a smile, one that would have to do for now.  
  
"Excuse me?" a rather burly man said, indifferent. "We have an appointment". Behind, Baekhyun caught sight of one other mass of muscle, dressed in a matching dark suit and dark glasses. With them, a young girl. She seemed young, anyway. Something about her smile seemed to strike him. The way it didn't reach her eyes. She seemed polished, like a celebrity whoever she was.  
  
"Who was your appointment with Sir?" Baekhyun asked.  
  
"Mr Bae Dongho. He should be expecting us".  
  
"Just a moment" Baekhyun reached for the phone. "Hello father, Yes, there is a…?"  
  
"Ms Chin" the man confirmed.  
  
"A Ms Chin here to see you. They said you were expecting them".  
  
Dongho was bright as always if not slightly distracted, and Baekhyun wondered how he did it, how he remained stoic in the face of such towering responsibilities. The Evergreen and its leaves were browning, and Dongho still saw the beauty in waiting for spring. He asked Baekhyun to escort them immediately.  
  
The receptionist desk was empty and sat on top was a box. But Dongho was already closing his door behind him. He bowed in the face of Ms Chin and hurried her inside before she made a peep. Her security stiffs waited by the water cooler.  
  
Baekhyun rounded the corner to leave and almost crashed into someone. Dongho's receptionist. She'd been crying. Not a spot of red on her lips.  
  
"You okay?" he asked, but knowing she really wasn't because nothing today was okay. He just said it to be polite, he supposed.  
  
"I'm fine," she said wiping down her face with a sleeve already stained with streaks of black mascara. "I'm going anyway. The place is clearly not for me".  
  
And then she shoved past him, abhorred at the sight of the security guards and the locked door. In silence, she removed every last object. A photograph of her daughter's birthday framed with sparkles. A fern in a red pot. A mug with the words, world best mum written in cursive. She rid herself, then left, and Baekhyun never saw her again.

 

  
-

 

 

  
_"So, Baekhyun, you know she likes you?"_  
  
_"Who?"_  
  
_"Bo-Hyun's friend. She is in your history class."_  
  
_"Oh right, her."_  
  
_"You know if you wanted we could all double date?"_  
  
_"I'm not sure."_  
  
_"Oh come on Baekhyun. Just one date. You don't even have to try. You could blow chunks, and she'd think it was charming."_  
  
_"That much, huh?"_  
  
_"Plus Bo-Hyun's dad won't let her go on dates unless they're in a group. For me please?"_  
  
_"Okay, then. For you"_

 

  
  
-

 

 

  
Before Baekhyun was led inside the Penthouse, Dongho held him back with a proud smile. "These people are my friends," He said, eyes wide in the amber light. It strikes Baekhyun that maybe this is something that Dongho had always longed for. At that moment, before the handle turned Baekhyun truly felt like a real son to him.  
  
When the door opens, it's to his debut. He smells cigar smoke and greying hair like ash. They all look at him with wrinkled expectations as they sip brown liquor and flatten their lapels. When the door opens, Baekhyun's stomach flips and doesn't stick its landing. It's a painful fumble to find the balance between a natural smile and running off scared.  
  
"Gentlemen," Dongho commands of his audience, "Please look after my Son, Byun Baekhyun". That's when his hands start to shake, and he doesn't understand why. He tries to hold them still behind his back, wiping the sweat discreetly before every handshake and bow. Finally, someone offers him a drink, a man with a thin moustache and a brown suit. "It's a pleasure to meet with Dongho's son, we have heard many good things of you".  
  
"I am honoured to be in such company," said Baekhyun, tongue so dry in his mouth that he feared it sounded like a garbled mess. So he takes a breath along with a sip. The heat hits the back of his throat, and something about that was soothing, like boiled tea. "It is my wish to follow in my father's footsteps".  
  
The man with the moustache smiles with a glint of a golden tooth. He guides Beakhyun to greet someone else with the same smile and the same brown suit, and perhaps things become fuzzy with every crisp, clear knock to the head, whiskey the bludgeon.  
  
They are seated on a leather couch. Its deep brown. It all looks deep brown. The colour of the soil. All these men surround Baekhyun like he is a bonfire, keeping themselves warm with the light of Dongho's content. They ask him questions. Where he went to school. Where he met Bae Doona. When will they have children? Where they will go to school. What car does he drive? Does he play golf? When would he be willing to play next?  
  
The questions went around and around the circle, hypnotising in the way they made Baekhyun turn his head to answer everyone. And with every-one, the answers became less and less and less easy to answer. Does he want children? If so, he would have to raise them. With Doona. They would have to wash and feed them, teach them to be good people. Make decisions, show them right from wrong. Be a beacon for virtue and goodness. Baekhyun hid a shudder when he caught his father-in-law's eyes. They burned bright with pride and Baekhyun felt that it was utterly undeserved.  
  
"Baekhyun?" a croak of a voice sounded right beside him. Another saccharine smile dressed in tweed holding a fresh cigar. He guided its length under his nose, smelling the aroma of wood and handpicked tobacco, "Its from South America" he giggled, excited to light his own. "Have you been to South America Baekhyun?" the flame creating deep shadows around his eyes, dark as night. Baekhyun shook his head no. He had never been.  
  
"You don't travel with your father?"  
  
"I take care of the hotel when he is gone. I suppose I'll get the chance to... Someday"  
  
"Dongho?" the man's voice was sandpaper, rough in the way Baekhyun liked, so he kept listening, "Where are going next?"  
  
"Indonesia."  
  
"Finally, a Holiday, huh?"  
  
"You know I'm always working. I've got some meetings with some new clients", and they all started laughing to some cryptic joke. Baekhyun rattled his chest along with them playing along.  
  
Across from him was a chatty man with one too many rings on his fingers, all garish and plump like buried treasure. "Dongho…" he drawled, "what was up with her?" clearly Baekhyun has missed half the conversation, but he seemed miffed. "She was too quiet, too quiet."  
  
"I thought you liked them quite Kwang Ho!" someone said, voice cracking with laughter.  
  
"There are times when I like them quiet but other times when I don't you bastard."  
  
The conversation carried along with something about potential investors. Horse racing. Birthday parties on boats. The best barbecue. Pink bikinis.  
  
Baekhyun barely listened, spending too much energy trying to grease up his smile and make it stick, but it would keep sliding back towards dread. His suit became overheated. His mind was a cloud. His voice was lost, calling out to someone else someplace else, the cigar still in his hand. "You want to try it, son?" the man next to Baekhyun offered with a bright orange flame. He raised it to his lips and let the end burn. "Inhale slowly". But the instructions didn't work. The smoke tasted like a forest fire, ripping up his lungs. To everyone else it must have looked like a pathetic attempt at fitting in, coughing up till his cheeks coloured beet and his eyes watered. The hand of Dongho was at his back, hitting it, feeling particularly brutal when he whispered in his ear, "Just relax Baekhyun". Because he couldn't. He couldn't breathe anymore knowing this was an opportunity to appear the worthy next of kin to the almighty Bae Dongho.  
  
His shoulders shrunk half their size, hiding out in the ensuite bathroom. An ode to marble with gold faucets shaped like swans. His reflection appeared ruptured by alcohol, the pressure of unspoken evaluations making fine cracks in the mirror. He could have punched it right through so his knuckles bled, but then he would not only be an embarrassment but an inconvenience.  
  
How is it that for years Baekhyun had his eye at the top of the mountain. The peak looked perfectly magnificent glowing in the light of the sun. But just as he was making the trek up, the air felt paper thin, like his body wasn't made right. Like he wasn't meant for this.  
  
There was a knock at the door. It was Dongho. He said, "Today you have worked hard. Maybe you should go home and rest".  
  
And even when he spoke with a gentle smile, Dongho's words were a landslide.

 

 

-

 

  
  
_"Hey Baekhyun, were you asleep?"_  
  
_"No. I was reading a book what's up?"_  
  
_"Such a dork."_  
  
_"Shut up, idiot."_  
  
_"Well, this idiot just got laid. I fucked Bo-Hyun."_  
  
_"…Oh?"_  
  
_"Fuck, it was amazing. She is so sexy, man. Like her tits are perfect. I mean I knew sex would be good but not that good."_  
  
_"Is she… your girlfriend now?"_  
  
_"I don't know. I didn't ask. But I'd totally do it again."_  
  
_"What does she think?"_  
  
_"Fuck, I don't know. But she liked it. I mean she was screaming dude. It was so hot. You'll understand when you get some. You gonna hook up with her friend?"_  
  
_"We kissed"._  
  
_"Really? Like tongue?"_  
  
_"Yeah"._  
  
_"Nice Baekhyun. Well I know she likes you heaps. She goes on and on about you."_  
  
_"I mean I like her. But I kinda… have someone else I like more."_  
  
_"And you didn't tell me? Bro?"_  
  
_"Well, it's not like it'll ever happen?"_  
  
_"Why she dying or something?"_  
  
_"No you ass. It's just impossible. They… don't like me that way.”_  
  
_"Damn man. Well, there are always other fish.”_  
  
_“Sure”._  


 

-

 

  
  
It was raining outside. Pouring. In his drunken stupor, Baekhyun had forgotten he came to work on his bicycle, chained up and parked undercover. He wanted to cry. Wanted to tear up the metal like a machine and press it down until it was flat and useless, just like him.  
  
The hem of his trousers was getting wet, puddles forming along the path leading out into the night. It must have been past midnight perhaps because the Chinese restaurant across the way was dark through its windows. Everything was too dark, and his feet hurt from holding himself up. He searched for his jacket pocket. No key. In a flurry to find it, it flies out his back pocket and clicks against the cement. Its metal shone with moonlight, almost hurting his eyes to look at. And then there were two white Nikes, scuffed and spotted with raindrops. Baekhyun looked up to see Yixing, or maybe it was just the moon, smiling at him. Almost laughing. He held out a hand, and Baekhyun reached for it, holding it so tight not caring that he still bore a nervous sweat.  
  
"Were you waiting?" he asked, excited because he forgot that maybe Yixing might not understand.  
  
"I wait," he said with a caress to Baekhyun's earlobe.  
  
"I'm drunk."  
  
He rested on Yixing's shoulder. He smelt so good. Like the rain. Yixing held him by the face, inspecting the colour of his cheeks and the spin of his eyes feeling particularity whimsical at the sight of Yixing's concern. It made him want to kiss his cheek, and so he did, with the sound of the wind whipping past his ear. The kiss was wet, like a bite. It wanted to say, "take me". Yixing made a noise. Low, like a hunger. His eyes focused on Baekhyun's lip, shivering from the cold.  
  
It must have been a debilitating kind of drunk because Yixing held him up, the weakness in his knees were no illusion. But the feeling on Yixing's body pressing against his was keeping him focused, keeping him present. Awake. It wasn't a dream.  
  
Yixing is so much like a dream, Beakhyun thought. So much like something his subconscious would weave out of the golden thread of his most profound, most fanciful wishes.  
  
Amongst these fading thoughts, the rain eased, and Baekhyun felt his body move with the force of Yixing's grip, stumbling towards his bike. Yixing peddled with Baekhyun fixed to his back, arms wrapped around as they rode away. A secret in quiet back streets.  
  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He smells ginger. Bright, saturated notes of ginger and garlic. Yixing stood, back facing him and steam rising from the stove. It takes a while for Baekhyun to realise he is waking up. He doesn't know how long he slept, but it's enough to feel none of that booze inflicted haze. There is no pain, thank goodness, only the subtle ache of his neck, sleeping on a weird angle is a bad habit. The pillow is unfamiliar, patterned with daisies and slightly flat. He decides to sit up a bit.  
  
They are in Yixing's place. He'd only ever seen a fraction of it from the front door, but it seems that fraction was at least half the view. It's small. A single room really. The cupboards are exposed, but everything has a place. He observes the way Yixing stirs the pot, delicate fingers adding salt. The way he scuttles with bare feet to reach porcelain bowls on the highest shelf. The way he notices one has some sort of day-old residue that he scrubs off in the sink. The way he hums a sweet tune to himself as if no one was watching. The way he smiles, turning to face Baekhyun with a bowl full of soup.  
  
"For me?" Baekhyun points to himself, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. The type of breathlessness that doesn't scare, but is born from starry eyes and shy smiles. Yixing sits on the edge of the bed, letting the steam fall over Baekhyun's face, closing his eyes. It is warm, and his heart aches. With the bowl up to his lip, he takes a sip, healing the destruction made by cigar smoke and anxious fumes. It tastes like it was made with love and Baekhyun swallows every drop of it.  
  
"Thank you" he sighs. There is soup dripping down his chin. He tries to lick it up, but Yixing stops him, a startling grip holding his jaw in place. He playfully tries to pull away, but Yixing seems stronger, maybe he is. Maybe Baekhyun stops fighting. Perhaps he likes the way Yixing will pull him in, bend the angle of his neck, pressing his fingers into the knots in his shoulders. His tongue that licks up throat and chin as if it were the chocolate batter left on a wooden spoon.  
  
"Sleep?" Yixing's question is so fragile, though, as if the answer would be shattering. His lips trace Baekhyun's eyes that flutter shut. He presses kisses there and on his nose and temple and ear and cheek. And Baekhyun presses back, letting out a soft whimper when he feels how hard Yixing is. "No sleep", and Baekhyun leaves him with a kiss so violent it wanted to draw blood.  
  
It was a rose-tinted night. Yixing had him from behind. Baekhyun's back was bare and covered in kisses, going all the way down to his hole, wet with spit. He ached for more, crying out into cotton daisies, hands locked beneath his chest. Yixing would strike his flesh, a blush of red from the force of it; Cock moving against his spine, slow, drawing out the feeling until birds sang from the small square window.  
  
Yixing touched every part of him, digging his fingers into muscle, undoing and untangling until he could be stretched out and pulled apart. Baekhyun wanted to feel how far he could extend. As if a dream was rolling in, Baekhyun remembered that feeling of weight around his wrists, the way those roots wove through his joints and secured him to the earth. He then released his hands from where they lay useless and let them grow up and behind his back like vines, twisting them together, hands locked in a kind of prayer.  
  
The buckle of a belt is such a distinct sound. When Yixing tightened the leather strap, he asked, "okay?" as if he wasn't sure. But Baekhyun kept saying yes, chanting it like. He wanted the joints in his shoulder to pop. He loved that Yixing could do that. Could make him feel mindless, could make him feel pain most wonderfully.  
  
 A kite hovers high above the tallest mountain; strings attached.  


 

  
-

 

  
  
  
It had never happened before. Ever in his life. The sun moved across the sky, hot and bright in his eyes. The realisation hit when warmth spread across his body. Yixing was holding him. To be exact, his arms were loosely draped over his side, and there was a distant pressure of fingertips resting along the base of his back. Baekhyun buried himself there, listening to heartbeats and counting each one. He could have sworn they matched his own. Synchronicity at its most brilliant, Baekhyn thought. How had he never experienced this before? Never in his life. And he wanted it again.  
  
The skin under Yixing's eyes was translucent. Like stains of indigo. His lips were slightly ajar, still fast asleep; soft breaths. Baekhyun just watched, too afraid to extract himself, that possibility of loss striking him with a deathly chill. And he wanted to live. So, desperately, he pulled Yixing into him, tighter and tighter, illogical thoughts of skin bonding together and becoming one organism. The sun would feed them, and they could live far away in some forest where they would sprout leaves and live for hundreds of years as tall trees side by side.  
  
The light had reached Yixing's eyes as he yawned awake.  
  
"Yixing. My Yixing" Baekhyun whispered, the sincerity of those words spoken against Yixing's chest as if speaking directly into his heart. Baekhyun's wood was hard then. He let Yixing know; climbing on top, moving his hips. It made Yixing smile. It made Yixing touch him back, feeling the skin pimple over his chest. They came together with sleepy kisses and a mournful cry.  
  
They shared soup again, sipping from chipped bowls in bed. Yixing laughed when he spilt some on the sheets. A wonderful laugh Baekhyun thought, like the crackle of honeycomb. When Yixing went to piss, he came back holding a book taken from a single shelf above the sink, cluttered with spices and dust. He flipped through the pages and landed on one he looked most interested in. Then with his best attempt sounded out unfamiliar syllables slowly and then Baekhyun's brain comprehended a complete sentence.  
  
Yixing had said, "Did you like the food?" somewhat broken in that way that was still filtered through his first language.  
  
A conversation never felt more exciting, and Baekhyun tried to hold back a tear. He took the book from Yixing and found the appropriate response. "Hǎo-chī," he said, slowly and deliberately, taking care to impart the meaning even when he'd never used it before. Yixing looked at where Baekhyun pointed at the page, and translated, "Del-i-cious". The afternoon was filled with the sound of flickering pages and giggles from mispronunciation. But they spoke, and they understood.  
  
"I work, and I live here for 11 months," Yixing said.  
  
"I like it. I live in an apartment too. High up"  
  
"Do you like your apartment?"  
  
"Too big."  
  
"I want to visit your apartment."  
  
"I have a wife", Baekhyun pointed to where his ring was meant to be, and he remembered he left it by the bathroom sink again. There was a deep imprint still there. It always felt too tight.  
  
"Wife?" Yixing didn't seem surprised, only dismayed, his eyes busy with words too complicated to string along from a book with not enough pages. Instead, he landed on, "Do you love your wife?"  
  
Baekhyun searched until "She is my friend. My friend" and he said it because it was true. Then Yixing ran his fingers down the page, the sound was rough as if it were a distant rumble of a thunderstorm. There was a small wrinkle in his brow that made Baekhyyun think it was all going to be washed away, this moment in the sun. The wind seemed to still as Yixing revealed his next question. _Do you love me?_ The book slipped from his hands with an expression of dark anticipation, turning away from the sun and picking at the fraying edges of his daisy sheets. Baekhyun, with gentle care, thumbed the highest point of Yixing's cheek. Their kiss became a silent pact, filled with every word and every possible meaning.  


  
  
-

 

  
  
Baekhyun almost forgot about work. He had mourned, sincerely mourned the realisation when he had held onto Yixing, like a snake spiralled around the branch of a tree, sobbing into his belly, throat piercing with firm knots of dreadful pain. But he needed to go.  
  
Doona was still not home. The apartment was a void. There was nothing for him there, not even air to breathe. He barely stood up, muscles rigid and eyes twitching, staring at the face of his former self, photographed in that black tuxedo, mocking him with that smile, artificially sweet and leaving a foul taste in his mouth. The glass in the frame was broken, and his knuckles had fine cuts in them, but he didn't notice the pain because it was swallowed up by the bone-crushing lie that was his flat-pack life. Assembled marital bliss and filial devotion, according to instruction.  
  
He needed to tell Doona. He must do, to be Truth, because when he was Truth; living it, he was free; blood warm and pulsing like rivers. He may have said those things in that order or not, the message he left her hotel room was incoherent from every hard intake of oxygen, surrounded by the debris of his existential terror. Curtains torn from windows, lamps fallen to the wayside, chair legs snapped in half. None of it mattered anyway.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
-

 

  
  
_"When are you leaving?"_  
  
_"In two weeks. Seems my parents are hell-bent on ruining my life as fast as possible."_  
  
_"This sucks... but we were going to spend the summer together. It was going to be the best one of our lives."_  
  
_"Don't remind me, Baek. I'll be freezing my ass off in another hemisphere."_  
  
_"Can I write to you?"_  
  
_"Only if it's legible."_  
  
_"It's not funny."_  
  
_"—Hey Baekhyun don't cry. It's not like I'm dying."_  
  
_"... I'll miss you so much... so much."_  
  
_"I know..."_  
  
_"...If you knew, then you wouldn't leave me."_  
  
_"Baekhyun. I have no choice — stop it- let go of me"._  
  
_"I c-can't."_  
  
_"Let go."_  
  
_"No!"_  
  
_"Don't be so fucking dramatic Baek. You'll ruin it"._  
  


 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is taking forever but I've changed the plot since I started. Apologies. It might even be 5 chapters.


End file.
